From The Woods
by PASIV-Dreamscape
Summary: For Arthur, his destiny is fortunate, and far more clearer than Merlin's. Growing weary with fear of what lies ahead, Merlin's anxiety drives him to find means in ending the path chosen for him. Suicide Attempts/Self Harm/Angst
1. Chapter One: From the Woods

**PLEASE READ IN 3/4 OR 1/2 WIDTH FORMAT (option on top right) TO KEEP ORIGINAL FORMAT OF THIS STORY (written in 3/4- 1/2 width page format)**

**_Chapter 1_**

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As soon as Arthur turned away, he ran.

The new king had uttered a single demand- "Do not take your eyes off him. Not even for a second.", As Merlin stood stiff still in between two guards that were slightly taller than him, his face cast towards the ground, but his blue eyes looking towards his master, lips pulled into a small frown of disapproval, hesitating obedience.

But the King, Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, yet to be Albion, failed to see that he was dealing with a being who not only sought ways to never follow orders, but who also found a large piece of his heart, eaten, by the need to get what he thought should be done, to be done.

Any other day, well, depending the circumstance, Arthur would have just rolled his eyes with a sigh, mentally noting that this was Merlin, his clumsy cowardly, yet sometime brave, Manservant who could barely care for himself doing something that perfectly fit his usual antics.

However, this was a moment in Arthur's time, -in which he had hoped he'd never come to face, never thought he would really-, that he had to not only make a choice for himself, but for his friend as well; the child from Ealdor who came with near nothing, arms and insults swinging with a deep dislike of his highness, now a dear friend and consult who had changed him for the better.

And Merlin knew, well, was rather aware that he was a friend and, more over, his kinds savior when it came to many incidents. But hardly did he realize that he was responsible for the noble young man who, -if he had never become acquainted with Merlin-, would perhaps never had married a servant girl.

Arthur would have perhaps grown to be merciless under his fathers harsh glare and cold heart.

But the feat of the century still stood like a thick line in between the one who boarded the small boat, ferried across by the one who held the paddle- Arthur the former, Merlin the latter.  
The passenger, ignorant to what he may meet as he traveled along the river Styx, as the ferry man Charon, aware, slowly tread the calm vile waters with a lanky oar in hand.  
But the King need no obol- a coin. The ferryman will give him a pass onward with or without consent, for it is in him to do so, it is his destiny to kneel and mold, giving a brief nod to the Cerberus dogs with tails of a dragon that guard along the edges; a silent telling that the King will leave when he'd like, and stay when he needs to, for however long he himself sees fit.  
It was Morgana and Uther who were forced to drink the disgusting waters of the river full of hate; their voices taken for nearly a decade. They were now fruitless.(1)

However, what Merlin, in the steps of Charon the ferryman of the river Styx did not know, was what he would face at the end of the slow cautious trip with his King. They were both kept from knowing, one more blind than the other, but all the same; the one who knew more wondered- in the end, would it be worth it?

Would he be alive when Albion stood? Would it be his friend, his master, his King, who would take him down? Or would it be in the midst of battle, where Arthur would last see him use magic as a futile attempts to survive?

The anxiety was boiling, eating at him, slowly. And Merlin could no longer stand world around him became a fog. Sounds, noises, people, actions, became something he could no longer stress to focus on. There would be moments in which he'd find himself staring down at a meal on a tray he'd serve, and Arthur's questions and banter wouldn't reach him until either someone shouted, or an item was thrown in his direction. In response, Merlin would look up, as if completely lost. And then he'd realize, he was losing it.

He was losing his ability to keep himself strong, to keep the_ 'what if's?'_ at bay. Morgana was getting closer, and the name Emry's tailed along with her, who gave Merlin a look of shock when he had pushed her with his magic. She knew. And he knew she was alive. Both were aware of what that meant. And Merlin did not, by any means, want to die.

The chances of Arthur knowing, or trusting his cruel, lost, insane step-sisters words were miniscule. But not even the most ignorant of people would overlook such a claim, and curiosity would arise. Eventually, Merlin figured, he'd be found out. And then, he also thought, Arthur would stack pieces of the puzzle, until he found all the evidence of how Merlin was responsible for certain events that steered his kingdom into pain and war, and loss.

Years of servitude with such a secret, responsible for so much chaos- the dragons destruction, his fathers insanity and death, Morgana's insanity, all the illnesses and unnecessary sacrifices. And for what? How would Merlin try to make Arthur understand that it was for a destiny he had to fulfill for the lands?

How would he be able to reason that all this genocide was to allow those who used magic, and the creatures as a result, to coincide with those who lived as normal beings? Merlin wondered, would Arthur even come to terms, or give him a chance, if he knew that his manservant and friend was born with it? Something Merlin really had no control over?

So to Merlin, it was of no surprise to him as he stood stiff still along side the kingdoms stone walls, hiding in the woods, with a dagger directed at his heart; his pale hands violently shaking as he eyes glared towards the blades hilt, mouth shut tight as his loud heavy breathing left through his nostrils.

The mental cheer and demand to just do it, to plunge it into his chest, to rid of all this fear and self loathing, consumed his mind, to the point that his vision dimmed, dark around the edges, framing the scene that was taking place as his legs almost shook. But then the reasonable side of his mind reminded him that there was always a chance- that Arthur might understand, or perhaps, never come to find out. It was a battle that was starting to test his wits, and he cursed silently because both opposing sides were himself. And he was so concentrated to find reason with one side over the other, that his trained ears failed to pick up the cracking of piled branches of natures ground.

One second, Merlin's eyes boiled with the edging colors of gold, ready to force his cursed magic to just do it for him. And then the next, he was on the ground, tackled, landing on his side roughly, his arms a tangled outstretched mess as the dagger just slipped from his sweaty a moment, he groaned with the pain that met his bony hip after landing on hard soil, eyes closed tight as he tried to keep himself from whining loudly, or enough to be heard. His mind was still trying to grasp what had just happened, but slowly, it came to a definite conclusion- a conclusion that he had to steer with a lie of some sort.

Merlin was always good at lying, but never has he good at blaming someone else, no matter how much he hated, for something as dark as death.

Lightly, Merlin had rolled onto his back, to look towards the person who had thrown him, knowing that just about anyone could toss his thin form, no matter how he wasn't entirely surprised to see blues, darkened to near black by the shade of trees, staring at him, in a frightened manner. Arthur had stood over him, loud breathing labored. His stance was defensive, as if Merlin would get up and start fighting him. But his seemingly young face was completely riddled with fear, concern, and question. One glance towards the dagger that Merlin held moments ago was enough to make his parted lips shut with a click of his teeth, and now, he was practically glaring at his manservant.

Merlin had looked away then, ashamed, and silent, not wanting to explain or answer, not even to his King.

So when Arthur had started yelling, demanding an answer, if anything, a reason as to why such a thing was deemed necessary, Merlin remained completely silent, his eyes averted and towards the dagger the whole time.

_'Here,'_ Arthur approached with an offering hand, trying to sound normal, but the order was rather clipped._ 'Get up.'_

As soon as the hand was close enough, Merlin put up arm, covering his face, as if though defending himself- but it was clear that he was shrugging at the kind gesture as his face suddenly changed into that of anger._ 'I can get to my feet on my own.'_ Merlin practically mumbled as he slowly came to a stand.

Seemingly slapped, Arthur looked away from his friend and ahead, hand still out. But as reality slowly started to come back to him, he adjusted himself and head for the dagger, grabbing it with ease, Merlin making no approach or saying nothing against it, as the blade was sheathed into Arthur's leather boot.

After a long and silent walk, the King nodding off to those who passed by in awe of his presence- which he didn't care to acknowledge as he forced a kind expression, they had made it to Arthur's quarters, the room larger, now that he was King, and his Queen, shared the same room often.

With a hand, he gestured the two trained guards that stood at his door to follow him inside. Without a seconds hesitation, they did as told, and, once in the room, followed their Kings orders, standing stiff along either side of a still and uncharacteristically silent Merlin.

Arthur did not miss the side glance exchange in between the guards, wondering what this was about, since all in Camelot knew of the strong friendship between both King and Servant, and no one questioned Merlin's drive to act offensively towards royalty after awhile. It was just common behavior after awhile, not worth gossip, perhaps only tales.

It was, Arthur realized, his own mistake for turning away for only a few seconds as he walked towards his desk to sit behind it, placing the dagger onto it with little care. He had failed to remember Merlin's great skills in stealth, and his ability to not only worm his way out of things, quite literally, but his ability to run faster, thanks to his lack of constant armour wear compared to the guards at his side, and his thin frame.

In moments, the guards, startled, just as shocked at Arthur who stared like an idiot towards the door, ran after Merlin- their King soon following.

They stopped for no question during this chase- and unfortunately for Merlin, when once guard was running, eyes fixed like a hawk on the target, other guards who stood by joined along- especially with a King tailing closely, quickly catching up.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder only moments, to ensure that he'd run into no one or nothing, before he set his eyes towards his path, ignoring the pain in his legs and chest as he drove to get further and further away from the large group of men who chased them. He almost stumbled over his own feet when he heard Gwen shout his name from a second floor window as he sprinted across the courtyard. But he managed to ignore his dear friends sweet warming voice as he ran farther, reaching the slipping part the guards standing at the gates towards the castle with ease, he ran through the town, excusing himself as he'd almost run into townspeople, thanking his arrival into a large maze he could play with to further distance himself. Once he made it past large areas, nearing the slums, he beamed a grin that all those who lived in Camelot's kingdom knew too well as a means to announce his sheer happiness- he didn't even dare look over his shoulder again as he moved faster, turning corners and going through homes as if this were all his playground.

The trick, he had mentally noted, was getting out of the city walls. But when he had reached the poorer states of Camelot's town, he had figured he'd get rid of the group of armour clad red and a very obvious King if he weeded through the crowded area, before getting to the a few more moments, Merlin gave chance to check over his shoulder, slowly to a stop when he, with a great smile, realized he had managed to lose them. With shaky limbs that swayed as if though limp, he struggled to catch his breath, aching legs teetering in balance as he stood straight for a moment before hunching, palms pressing against his knees as he tried to get his lungs to work as he found well enough to continue forward.

A small chuckle left him as he head towards the exit, finding it rather eerie that he was so driven to do this, the only reason behind the need to kill himself simply the unbearable fear of his future, knowing that Arthur's destiny was prosperous the moment he was born. It was the lack of fairness, and the displeasure of being forced to make someone else better, rather than himself.

Some would consider Merlin important, someone who was needed. But the way Merlin saw it, from the moment he was told he was to mold a future for someone else, he figured, he was considered the shadow that simply needed to follow, and seem right as the light hit from different angles- silent, but there, doing what it must to keep order and not stir question. And that, he found, was something worse than death.

To not be considered a person, but rather, a thing, born to aid, not to make choices. Enslaved from the moment he was born, a destiny written for him, much more powerful than for others, enough to have a Kingdom's coming on your shoulder, weighing down. And it had finally broken Merlin.

With a rather energetic strut that seemed nothing like the troubling thoughts in his head, Merlin made his way through the towns, not failing to notice the smiles of the people; all of who recognized him- and who wouldn't? He served the King, for years now. He was just as famous, but just not as important.

As he walked, practically bouncing with each step, he began to wonder how he'd accomplish it, now that his only weapon that was near him at constant was taken from him and in Arthur's chambers. A blade was nice, innovative. It did what it had to do- cut, stab, kill. But without it, he'd have to depend on the natural surrounding lands of the Kingdom. There were moments in which he passed many butcher, meat shops in which he considered taking or asking for one, lying to them with_ 'the King needs it for a weaponry experiment'_, ignoring the questionable eyes that doubted the young, odd man as they handed a blade to him. But it felt wrong, since they purchased the blade in order to work, doing such a dirty bloody job to feed others.

Then he considered buying one at a nearby shop meant for those touring the lands, curious adventurers being their highest rate of customers, looking for certain articles of clothing, accessories, or weapons. But, as he came to a brief halt, patting himself down to search for his small coin pouch, he found it gone- either fallen in the woods when Arthur found him, or in the mess that was his room in Gauis' quarters.

A sudden pang of guilt gripped at his chest as he remembered the kind old man, who had always demanded Merlin to stay well, be safe, and last in life long enough to not die before the old court physician. He knew he was seeking out to finish such a selfish and weak act, and that it would hurt Gauis the most, perhaps even more than his own mother.

But his young mind kept telling him, practically reminding him, that this had to be done._ Must_ be done for the safety of those he loved. To further end the death he stirred in Camelot. To never enforce magic attack this Kingdoms walls because he, Emry's, was inside. He would order that Kilgharra forever protect the land and its people, even after his death. He'd order the old dragon to not save him, but save Arthur whenever he'd need an army of men to protect the people of Camelot from evil sorcerers like Morgana.

And then, that would be it.

His final generous gift to those he cared for. A way to calm his fluttering heart, throbbing so at the thought of his driven act, drenched in suicide with so much hidden reason.

So appalled by this act and himself was Merlin, that when he wondered if he should write a final letter, explaining all he had done and how sorry he was, he immediately patronized himself. He didn't want to be despised, and consider him selfish if one much. He'd rather be looked down upon by the tales of someone else's mouth, than trying to find reason in his honest words.

He was sure that only his mother and Gauis would understand.

"So,"

He looked up, foolish grin still set on his lips as he anticipated leaving the large guarded gates.

Brown settled on tightly cemented large stone that worked as a pathway. A darker shade of brown like aged tree bark followed up towards a red tunic, pale hands almost tucked in crossed arms against a broad chest, the calmest of expressions on a handsome face. The smile balanced on the balls of his heels, arms still crossed stiff against his chest. His brows rose. "Where were you planning on going, Merlin?"

The lack of insult in the warlocks name, the sheer seriousness in how it was said, made the dense anticipation sink into the ground, as the excitement to get things done was completely drained from Merlin's chest and mind, as he watched Arthur stand square center of the gates exit, his only way out of Camelot, his only means of escape- thwarted.

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**A/N-** I dunno. Wrote this in an hour, around of the moment. Wanted to start it off with a suicidal Merlin running away while keeping the readers wondering what the hell was going on.I've been wanting to write a suicidal Merlin fic for awhile now, without the romance in slash, and the angst that surrounds a broken heart.I wanted it to be general, to the story, and believable. It's not that I'm again slash. But as I get older, I kinda just find no fascination in it. I'm more into the bromance, the friendship, now, more than anything. And Merlin, Arthur's relationship to me doesn't seem as ridiculous, and more reasonable, if just that- friends and destined Merlin and Arthur. As for the angst, again, I didn't want it to just be pointless and unreasonable. I wanted it to be something that people could relate to- the feeling fear from failures or being found out for something terrible you've done, or a secret that might get announced.

**Reviews are always nice. I'd really like some feedback. I have 2 other stories I'm working on, so, truth be told, if reviews don't come, I'll just ditch this. **

**I need to know that people are reading. More so any because this was written in the spur of a random moment an hour ago, 4am, and was just now uploaded, any typo's and what not is completely my fault.**

****(1)= The tale of Charon, the old ferry man, who ferried souls who bared a coin (also known as obol) to allow passage onto the next world. This boat ride basically led you down the river of Styx (word which translates to Hate), to get you to the afterlife (I think purgatory first though). Cerberus, the guard dog, kept souls from leaving the underworld (in Greek mythology, the dead always went to the underworld. I think it was after a trail in purgatory, or after the river ride, that they made it either 'heaven', 'hell', or 'limbo'). It was also said that when God's did something that was to be punished, they were forced to drink the vile waters of the river by Zues, and would lose their voice for 9 years.


	2. Chapter Two: Sparrow & Wolf

**PLEASE READ IN 1/2 TO 1/3 WIDTH FORMAT (OPTION ON TOP RIGHT OF CHAPTER) TO KEEP AT THE FORMAT WAS WRITTEN IN**

**A/N**- Don't worry. I'm a sadist too.  
This being un-beta'd, and it, yet again, nearing 4am- I apologize in advance for any confusion or typo's.

Thank you for all the kind reviews!:  
lordstarlight, MerlinFan1996, TeganL74, blackkitty(anon/guest), Random (anon/guest), Bookwormiie (anon/guest), ebonypol, Tsukiko (anon/guest), xXMistressMadHatterXx

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_Chapter 2_  
_Sparrow & Wolf_

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Calloused experienced hands held the hilt of the dagger as his wrist slowly turned it. His other hand affront the end, index finger up and lightly poking at the blades tip.  
His chin was slightly lifted, eyes looking towards the blade though his head was lightly tilted back. "So... What were you planning on doing?" His blue eyes looked towards Merlin, who sat in a chair at least five feet ahead from Arthur- behind his desk, littered with yet finished or read papers.

Merlin's eyes scanned the ground for a moment, knowing his chances of escape were now slim. The guards that stood to each of his sides placed their hand on each of his shoulders. Another guard stood behind him, stiff and still like stone. Two guards at the door within Arthur's room, and another two outside.

It was rather ridiculous, but it was more over to make a point rather than for its use-_ 'Only two are needed to take you down, the rest are for show, to prove one thing- no escape.'_- or something along the lines.

"Well?"

Merlin's head lifted abruptly, failing to realize he had dozed off and was staring towards the guard on his lefts leather boots, sighting the hand on his shoulder from the corner of his eye. He even hummed in acknowledgement. And when he saw Arthur's head lean forward, -from the tilt it formerly held-, as a sigh escaped the young King's lips, Merlin's chest wrenched, and he almost felt sick as he watched his friend roll his eyes and turn his head to look away, lips in a frown.

Arthur murmured something as the hand that poked at the blades tip came to a slow rest on the tables surface. "**Hell!**" He then suddenly yelled, the hand holding the dagger slamming along with the intricately designed metal, as he came to a quick stand, the chair behind him always falling. Both hands rested on his hips as he slowly left his desk and head towards an open window, looking out of it and towards the sight his father once saw of Camelot's town, teeming with life.

Merlin watched as his friends tense muscles visibly smoothed through the red, thin summer tunic as he crossed his arms.

There was a long, loud exhale that left Arthur's nose in attempts to further calm himself as he balanced on either foot, teetering before turning, hands on his hips again, to face Merlin, who, he noticed, stared at him expectantly. "Merlin. I want-…" He stopped, head turning to look away as his eyes found the ground, head dropping along with his vision as a loud sigh escaped him. It took another moment before he lifted his head, gaze still averted, as if thinking his words over, before they settled onto Merlin again. "I_ need_ you to explain yourself."

Merlin looked away for only a moment, as if constructing a proper answer, before he looked to Arthur. "You know what you saw. Why do you want-_ need_," He mocked. "Me to explain?"

Arthur immediately glared. "Do not speak to me with such a smart arsed tongue-"

"Would you prefer it I kiss your shoes then? And answer in the most respectful of manners with absolute adoration, sire?" Merlin immediately retorted, a cruel smirk on his lips. When the blond man standing still, no longer glaring at him, failed to respond as he wanted, Merlin's smile fell. "What do you want me to say-"

"Anything." Arthur interrupted, crossing his arms with a shrug. "A reason, if it is not too hard to ask one of you."

"There is none." Merlin shrugged, the guards fixed hands flexing by a minuscule compared to their limp grasp. His blue eyes looked towards the ground, not being able to face the other after such a pitiful answer.

A large sigh tore through Arthur, but it was visible in the tense muscles between his shoulders, though covered in cloth, that he was trying to maintain calm.

Lifting his head further, Merlin looked to Arthur with an almost pleading expression, mentally patronizing himself for doing such, knowing that his King had every right to be mad, if not concerned, at this very moment. "What do you truly want from me, Sire…?" Merlin tried, voice at the edge of begging, as if finding the way he was being forced to remain was completely unjust.

Arthur turned to face him, a hand out. "I want you to say something-" He paused, other hand resting against his hip as he sought the ground. "Anything, that would indicate if you were…" He halted in his words, as if though he found the next words ridiculous. "… If you were in the right state of mind."

The air grew tense, the guards visibly stiffening, exchanging looks with only their eyes, at their Kings words. Only Merlin didn't seem to know what he meant as he shifted casually in the seat.

"Yes," Merlin smiled, scoffing as he looked away. "My mental stability would be clear if I reasoned-" He came to a sudden stop, failing to remember the words to the insult he was building, as his eyes grew, face falling in realization. "You want to see if I've this is the doing of some sorcerer." He edged in the seat, the wood creaking, the grip of the guards tightening over his bony shoulders. "You think I've been enchanted. And you want to see if this is the fault of magic at work… Don't you?"

Without looking away, gaze stern, jaw visibly flexing, the King gave a single nod. "With Morgana still out there, I would assume nothing else." He took a step towards the window, as if he'd spot his half sister glaring at him from the woods beyond the town walls. "There is the possibility of sorcery at hand-"

"Do you really despise magic so much?" Merlin practically hissed as his eyes narrowed, seemingly disgusted.

Somewhat taken aback, Arthur furrowed his brows. He was explaining his theory to calm Merlin down, who he thought was frightened. But he did not expect such malicious reactions to such an idea. When Merlin caught on to what Arthur said, albeit subtle, it was to ease his friend into the dark possibility, to make sure the boy didn't fling off the seat with raged breathes. Instead, Merlin was glaring at him at the accusation. Silently, he stared at Merlin, as if beckoning him to continue.

Merlin did. "When something dark looms over anything, **magic** is always at fault." He glared, voice practically wavering with pent up anger.

"Merlin…" Arthur shook his head once, brows furrowed, trying to get his bearing. "Wha-"

His manservant huffed a small laugh before looking away towards his Kings bed, glare gone. Any scrap of anger or malice completely washed away and replaced with a rather apathetic gaze. For a moment, he seemed to be as if in a daze as he longingly stared at the bed. "You sound just like your father." Merlin muttered, almost as if to himself. But it was clear that the statement was for an audience, and it was hardly short of an insult.

Arthur followed his friends eyes, the comment passing by him for a moment, curious as to what his friend was looking to, only glimpsing when he realized it was the bed that was formally his fathers, -rather its frame rather than mattresses-, before looking away, teeth pressed, expression grim. He looked to his guards, nodded towards the door, then lowered his head towards the ground, listening for the receding steps to finally exit his room. They would stand outside, so escaping would be impossible. They were more concerned for their King, or rather, what he'd do to his servant for such a remark.  
When the sound of thick wood and iron closed them in, Arthur looked to Merlin, then away, ignoring his friends eyes as he walked towards his desk, eyes searching the stone walls before resting his palms on the oak wood surface, arms supporting his heavy weight as he leaned against them.

Merlin began to wonder if the man was trying to keep himself from throwing punches. So when Arthur gave a loud sigh, that broke the silence like loud thunder after a startling flash of lightening, Merlin jumped.

The King turned abruptly, nearly sitting as he leaned against the table behind him. "What has gotten_ into_ you Merlin?"

Merlin glanced towards the unsheathed dagger on the desk before looking towards the blond who stood, stone still, arms crossed on his broad chest, pressing against his red tunic.

Catching this, Arthur sidestepped to cover the others line of sight. Brows raised in an as though expecting gesture, ducking his head lightly, he tried again. "Merlin?"

Dim blue eyes looked to bright concerned ones, the worry that did not reach his King's face but dwelled in his eyes. Merlin hardly hesitated with his words. "I am but your loyal manservant, Sire. You needn't bee concerned over such trivial matters-"

"**Don't give me that!**" Arthur overlapped the others calm voice with a roar, glaring at Merlin.

They could almost heard the shift of armour from the guards outside.

After glancing towards the door, as if to make sure no one was entering to check on them, Arthur took three long strides towards his friend, glaring at him the entirety of it, as he came to a halt, index finger out and pointing at Merlin's face. Say that again, and I shall have you sacked." He threatened, voice low, at a level that allowed only he and Merlin to hear the words.

But Merlin did not respond in the way Arthur had hoped, and instead, rolled his eyes, looking away with a huff and a sarcastic smile. "Like rotten goods-" He was interrupted with the sudden motion before him, as Arthur hunched towards him, face dangerously close, expression seething with impatience.

"No, _Mer_lin," Arthur hissed, grabbing hold of his friends neckerchief. "I'd release you and send you to your own reserved room at the Narrentürme." He paused, noting the way Merlin looked to him in a rather odd fashion. Arthur sighed, but didn't inch away, still close. "It means Fool's Tower, a place reserved for the insane of men and women."  
He watched his manservant's face fall instantly and nodded curtly, proud that he was getting somewhere. His loose expression vanished, and his face was hard again. "That's right. And I'd have Gauis force to care for you. You'd be in constant watch as an unstable and dangerous man, to yourself, and others." He then suddenly shoved Merlin away, the seat teetering lightly, as he stepped back.  
"So you can tell me what and why you are determined to such cowardly acts," His expression calmed as he took a rather apathetic gait to his back and forth pace, ignoring Merlin's glare. "Or you could face a time, or life, of taken freedom." His pace ended, and he stood before Merlin, arms crossed, brows raising as he tilted his head. "So? Which would you prefer?"

A long silence followed as the door stared at each other.

Merlin had already figure his options, listing more than he was given.  
Arthur, being King, had authority. A mere trickle of words could break a centuries old tradition if he deemed it so- and it had been done many times before. Therefore, he being King, means that his word would be taken as law. Merlin would be taken wherever the King wanted him to be- and he'd have no say as they'd carry him off like a sack of vegetables.  
He could always tell Arthur a lie- but how well would it sound? So far, any fibs that stirred in his mind failed to sound convincing. He figured he could say his mother was dying from illness- but what would happen if she came to Camelot with a sudden urge to visit in fair health?

And if he told Arthur what was troubling him, that would mean he'd have to talk about the secrets that he's kept to himself, with the aid of few trust worthy friends, in order to stay alive.

"_Well_?" Arthur's voice bounced off the room walls and into Merlin's aching head.

Merlin winced, as he recognized the sudden feeling of an incoming head ache. Making a face he didn't realize he had pulled, he shook his head lightly, trying to rid of the sudden discomfort- but regretted it as soon as he had committed the action, his brain feeling as thought it were bouncing against the walls of his skull.

A loud sigh erupted from Arthur as he uncrossed his arms, letting them sluggishly fall to his sides, hands smacking against his thighs audaciously upon impact as he looked towards the ceiling. "Gods, what **_now_**?" He asked himself, shaking his head as he looked away from Merlin.

But the sudden clatter of a sliding chair and a large thud made the Kings head turn towards his friend immediately, curious and once calm eyes widening once he had spotted his friend who lay on the floor, as if curling into himself lightly, pale and still.

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**A/N**- This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I decided this was a more fitting ending compared to the one prepared. So, now since it's been cut in half, I guess this means the next chapter will come in much sooner.

After finishing this, I've become aware that I change tenses a lot. The entirety of this story is meant to be in the passed tense.

As for that one word- Narrentürme, which does in fact refer to Fool's Tower, which is in fact a place for madmen (the insane) to be sent off, I'm not entirely sure if they had yet existed around the Arthurian age. I would assume that in the times of Arthur and Merlin, people were killed rather than cared for, or abandoned, if they didn't seem right in the head.  
As history shows, before medicine was able to determine much, those who had a mental illness' were assumed to have evil spirits within them, and were either executed, shunned, or exiled (usually because they didn't look "normal"). As for those who were mentally unstable, they were usually cast out or killed as well.  
Since the Arthurian Legend is consumed with its disliking of any form of sorcery, or the mere sign, I would assume that people considered peasants were ignored or killed (if the show wasn't PG-13, lol, I'm sure there would be more executions over trivial things). But if the Narrentürmes did in fact exist around that time, then the mentally ill and mentally unstable would be sent off to one- and they weren't pretty.  
Ever watch that one movie about Goyá with Natalie Portman who plays a noble daughter who's taken in because of assumed witchcraft, and was then sent to a Madhouse rather than to be executed?.. ( Or something like that.) . Yeah. Not pretty. It was basically a dumping site for the unwanted.  
However, I'm sure that Knight's would be taken in to a Monastery of sorts, since their insanity would be understandable, as a result of war.  
So the nobles and men of war were sometimes sent to much better places than towers.  
In this fic, Arthur threatens to send Merlin to a Narrentürme, a Fool's TOWER. He was hoping that Merlin would catch onto the fact that he would be sent to a place where people seldom acknowledged you (some sane went insane because of the conditions and neglect)- but Merlin didn't understand the term, coming from Eoldor, a small town/village where such things don't exist (I would assume the towns people cared for the ill and those born out of what they would consider a 'proper mind set', rather than send them away or kill them).

Concerning Morgana's status (alive or dead), I don't remember if they declare her either. For the sake of this story, Arthur will assume she's still alive.

Now, that being explained (phew, pretty long too), I hope to hear what you guys thought about this chapter. I'm still unsure, really, if I should continue. But hey. Who knows.

Thanks for reading this chapter : ), till the next.


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